(no subject)
Apples
If you take a bite from an apple
(keeping in mind the apple
cannot freely give it,
you are the one with teeth)
If you take a bite from an apple
and let it sit
in the air, exposed,
it begins to yellow.
It is no less edible
and yet
our aesthetic sensibilities
bid us not to force ourselves
to finish what we have marred.
You must be timely
in eating your apples,
or you could end up like me -
sorry I let my apples sit.
I forgot I was the one with teeth
and the apple could not
take its bite back.
Focus
Removing my glasses and
allowing my eyes to slide out of focus
is dangerous;
I could permit myself to live
in a world of constant imagination.
The light looks like orange juice,
and my toes are formed
from riverbed clay.
No breasts have nipples;
this is because we live forever
and so do our children,
what a strange freedom!
what a strange prison!
And reality is merely
two windows without houses
to frame them;
unencumbered voyeurism
for the lunatic looking in
on the dynamic of
the sane, rule-bound plane -
how lucky am I?
I do not wear my windows to sleep.
It is no wonder that my dreams
are terribly odd.
3-21-08
In my head I would say to you then,
"Love me!
It will start a fire burning
no one and warming everyone.
Stop wandering!
This is chaos theory, and we are strange attractors."
Maelstrom
I always believed your color
looked as though molasses
taught honey how to dance.
Looking through my rosy glasses
has yet to prove a disadvantage.
I haven't yet felt
that pouring coffee
of your laughter anywhere
but in the reverberations
of my thoughtlike synapses.
Someday, I will find you
wishing to be found
and we will embrace with our eyes
and our arms, as though
to compensate for time lost.
It will be the best and last day of my life.
I am learning so much, researching and reading and writing. If I were making more actual progress in my book, I might be more proud. Something important to note, though, is that even if I have not written more than a chapter, I am building plot. Nuanced backstory is just flooding my brain to the point that I have not left my house in three weeks and I haven't hung out with anyone in longer than that and I am okay with that, because I am making real something that was just a pretty idea. It has deepened and strengthened, it's been much like steeping tea. Riva is not only a girl who shares her name with an unfamiliar, sinister world, it's very nearly an experience. I just need to get it written down and fleshed out. Put the honey and milk in the tea. And drink it. My book is Earl Grey. Mmmhm.
I am looking bravely into the face of past and future loves and saying they will never beat the present, because I love myself now, I really do. I didn't for a very, very long time, and I proved it by lying to myself and sabotaging good, real connections no matter what I tried to say my intentions were. I am actually opening up again. It is terrifying, but I trust myself enough not to crawl back inside.
I'm motivated by a memory of awe, for the sheer existence of most things, 'good' or 'bad'. Tonight, I walked my dog and noticed that the weight of ice built up on the pine tree in the backyard had broken its branches, releasing its particular scent and making me feel like I was walking through a gin and tonic theme park. That was pretty good. Not perfect, but I'll be trying again soon.
I appreciate you, everybody. I'm sorry for what I've missed. Catch me up, if you like.